


Just a Little Spark

by jeleania



Series: Whumptober 2020 [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Clarus is there trying to be Regis' self restraint, Gen, Gun Violence, Harm to Children, Kidnapping, Lucis Caelum are Dragons, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26617093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeleania/pseuds/jeleania
Summary: Regis wanted to pace, to stalk, to hunt.Noctis had been missing for three hours.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum & Regis Lucis Caelum
Series: Whumptober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1936261
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	Just a Little Spark

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt No 3.  
> Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint
> 
> beta-read by Jayetta

* * *

Regis looked around the safe room he was waiting within. A television on a table, a couch against one wall, the desk he sat behind - bare bones and simple. The only people in it were himself and Clarus, the other guards giving them privacy by standing in the outer parlor and the equally barren bedroom with an ensuite bathroom.

Regis wanted to pace around the room that was too small and too empty.

No, he wanted to stalk the halls. To prowl the streets. To hunt like a predator.

Sitting here, waiting here, was torture. Curse his bad knee, the joint aching dully and fanning his displeasure. Curse blasted regulation keeping him here in this safe room deep in the citadel. He didn’t care about preserving the royal bloodline in case the worst occured.

Noctis had gone missing three hours ago.

When the signal from the panic button on Noctis’s cell phone had come in, Clarus had ushered the King out of his study. A few seconds later, one of the Crownguard who had been with the boy had also sent an alarm asking for immediate aid. He knew that protocol would have had the nearest Guards and Glaives, both on shift and off duty, alerted with the location. They would have rushed to secure the seven year old Crown Prince and bring him safely home.

They got there too late.

The Crownsguard car had been found with the front end smashed into a heavy duty garbage truck. Witness accounts and traffic camera footage showed the truck had purposely veered into the path of the car. Then the truck driver had opened fire with a gun, littering the car windshield and hood with bullet holes. A van had pulled up alongside the driver side of the car, figures in ski masks jumping out to pry open the car doors and pull a weakly struggling child from the vehicle. The driver and guard were both in the hospital wing of the Citadel, their chances of survival low as the doctors fought to keep them alive. His son’s school bag and cell phone had been in the footwell of the backseat.

Blood had been on the backseat and the road. 

Word had yet to reach Regis how much of the red belonged to his son.

Cor was out there, working with city security and Crownsguard for leads. Clarus was here with Regis, coordinating the protection of the king. Everyone was doing all they could to track down the missing crown prince.

Part of Regis appreciated them all.

Most of Regis was a furious Dragon whose only kit had been stolen.

He wanted to rage and bring down the stars like his ancestor Bahamut himself had done in the ancient lore. Human blood may have lessened the physical traits of their line. The mind and instincts - those were still very Draconic, especially when stressed or emotional.

His son was missing, alive but hurt. 

As he had been doing again and again the past three hours, he mentally checked on the web of bonds branching out from his soul. There were hundreds of Crownsguard and citadel servants, thin cords from their Vows of Words to aid and protect and support. There were dozens for the Kingsglaives, flexible ropes that hummed with the magic given during the Vows of Service. There were his Retinue, his Sword Sworn, thick cables binding with the Vows of Fealty and strengthened by brotherhood. There was the scar from each of his dead parents, Mors’ uglier than Mother’s due to their Draconic heritage despite the man’s neglect of his son. 

And there was the young bright woven braid of a bond that connected him to Noctis. It had started to grow as his son had, still a tiny muppet in his beloved Aulea’s womb. When the baby prince had come into the world, the bond grew stronger as the infant had instinctively reached out to his parents. As long as that bond was there, then his son was still alive. 

He prayed he would never feel the traumatic severing of this bond with his baby boy. Losing Mors had been bad enough even with the emotional distance. To feel Noctis die would destroy him.

The bond hummed, whispers of _ annoyance-defiance-pain _ brushing against his mind when the father focused on it.

Regis was stuck waiting for news.

He noticed Clarus answer his phone yet again. No doubt another update. Maybe Cor would give good news.

The spike of  _ horror-rage-dread _ from his Shield was not reassuring.

Regis stood up, about to demand information. Clarus ignored him. Instead the larger man lunged for a remote, turned on the television in one corner of the room.

On the screen was a scene from his nightmares.

His baby boy was on his knees on a dusty floor. Blood was on his face from a split lip. A bruise was darkening his forehead just above his right eye. His school uniform sweater was gone. The white button down shirt with the school’s crest on the right breast was rumpled and missing two buttons. Behind the boy crouched a muscular mountain of a man, one hand easily pinning his son in position. The other large hand was in black wispy hair, pulling his head back to bare his young neck. There was a dark line of bruises forming on his throat.

Regis distantly felt a growl rumble in his chest.

Bright blue eyes glared at the man standing in front and to his right. The man ignoring his son looked in the camera and said “We are Populus Praesidium and this message is for the King. As you can see, we have your son. Meet our demands and he’ll be released to you. Alive.”

The spokesman kept talking, spouting out demands of expanding the Wall and large sums of money and astrals knew what else. Regis wasn’t paying attention. He wouldn’t give any of it anyways - these terrorists never realized the cost of what they wanted. Expanding the Wall would kill him faster and Noctis was too young to hold it, wouldn’t have the strength for at least another five years. The money would be taken from other refugees and struggling families, the kingdom’s budget stretched thin as they strived to not be crushed beneath Niflheim’s might. 

Besides, how dare the scum make demands when he was threatening Regis’s only son? 

Even if he had been sitting on a pile of gold, even if he had the spare magic to wrap the Wall around all of Lucis, he would not give these monsters a single crumb for the harm they had done to his baby boy. For the blood on Noctis’s face, the bruises darkening young skin, the increasing number of minutes the boy spent in danger - these terrorists would only get suffering and death from Regis. 

As the spokesman blabbed on, Regis asked, “Any progress tracking the signal?”

“Not yet,” Clarus murmured in return. “Dumb question but should we prepare ransom money?”

Regis tore his eyes away from the image of his squirming son to give his Shield a Look.

Clarus just shrugged. “Needed an answer.”

With a soft snort, Regis turned his full attention back to the television. He trusted his Shield-friend-brother to coordinate the roused hornet’s nest of activity this broadcast was no doubt causing. It was one of his many duties of supporting his king.

The spokesman clearly grew annoyed with the child’s wiggling struggle for freedom. He made a gesture at his companions. 

The bulky captor shifted his grip and stood, bodily lifting up Noctis. His large hands easily trapped the boy’s arms at his sides, fingers digging into his ribs. Noctis kicked uselessly, feet too far from the ground or the man to reach. The young face scowled, looking more annoyed than scared.

Then a gun was pressed against downy black hair. The gunman standing to the boy’s left removed the safety with a click. 

Noctis went still.

The spokesman had a nasty smirk as he turned to resume speaking.

Only for the smug expression to contort into a scowl at the boy decided he had kept quiet long enough.

“This is a really dumb way to ask for help,” grumbled Noctis.

The spokesman whirled around and pulled out his own pistol. He grabbed the boy’s jaw, yanked it down, and shoved the muzzle of the gun into the child’s mouth. Wide blue eyes stared as the scum snarled, “You need to learn when to shut up, brat. Keep talking and I’ll start putting bullets in you.”

Blue eyes narrowed, flicked between the spokesman and the gunman to his left.

“Noctis.” Regis growled in warning. He could read the calculation in those bright eyes. It was a ripe opportunity to lash out with magic - he could see a tiny spark flicker to life in his son’s left hand unnoticed by the captors. He pressed  _ disapproval-unease _ against the familial bond as he chided, “Not with so many guns pointed at you. Noctis, no.”

The boy glanced at the camera almost as if he could hear his father. The spark flickered again then vanished. The young prince lowered his eyes to the ground in submission. 

Appeased, the spokesman withdrew his gun - Regis sighed in relief - and turned back to the camera to rant his ideals some more. Regis couldn’t concentrate on the man’s words, he only had eyes for his son. Noctis was making some adorable disgusted faces like he had tasted something foul and was trying to scrape it off his tongue. Regis knew how unpleasant gun oil tasted and commistrated with his baby. He saw the boy consider spitting then decided to reluctantly swallow. His lips formed the words “That was nasty.”

The spokesman paused in his pacing. He jerked his chin at the gunman, who lifted his own pistol away from his boy’s head. Only for the spokesman to pistol-whip Noctis across the face. 

Apparently Noctis hadn’t been quiet enough with his last comment.

Regis was going to break that monster’s hands finger by finger for striking his son. 

When the spokesman grabbed Noctis by the hair and pulled his face forward again, Noctis was blinking in confused pain. The look he shot the man clearly said what the fuck but he wisely kept his mouth shut this time. Bright red blood trickled past the boy’s right ear and onto the collar of his shirt.

The spokesman looked at the camera again. His mouth moved in words that Regis couldn’t hear past his heart thundering in his ears in fury.

Both Lucis Caelum realized an important fact at the same time.

No one was pointing a gun at Noctis. 

Noctis bared his teeth in a Dragon’s grin. One of his baby fangs had fallen out recently. The gap between his human teeth made the fierce expression look precious.

This time, he didn’t stop at a mere spark.

Lightning blinded the camera. Three adult male voices cried out in shocked pain. Just before the camera shorted out and the screen went dark, the telltale blue flash of a warp shot off screen.

Regis sank back down onto his chair. He flexed his fingers in the wood of the desk. There were claw marks and little starbursts of char - he absently wondered if those could be sanded out. Maybe some kind of mat to cover them. Or he could just get the top of the desk replaced.

“Noctis has gotten better with his lightning magic,” Regis commented. “I’ll have to teach him a few tricks soon.”

Listening to someone on his cell phone, Clarus shot the king an exasperated look.

Regis grinned briefly, baring his own fangs.

Noctis was still missing, still in danger. Regis wouldn’t be able to calm down until he had his son safe in his arms and the pair of them barricaded in his own quarters. But his smart stubborn little boy had gotten himself out of immediate danger. His captors would try to catch him again - Noctis would not make it easy for them.

Cor had better find his son soon.

Regis wondered if the spokesman was still alive. He owed the scum many broken bones.

* * *


End file.
